


personal responsibility

by enamuko



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-07
Updated: 2014-10-07
Packaged: 2018-02-20 05:46:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2417156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enamuko/pseuds/enamuko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Guardians get a new guest on board, Drax does not exactly approve of their method of showing her hospitality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	personal responsibility

**Author's Note:**

> A promised gift for someone who had to endure a very hard day when they would rather not.

 

"Why is the blue warrior in the cell? Is she not the sibling of our companion?"

 Peter stared at Drax in confusion. He remembered some kind of saying involving looking as if one had grown an extra head but could not remember if that applied to this situation.

 "Did you forget how she just tried to kill us?" he asked, staring at him incredulously.

 "Of course I remember, it happened only a few hours ago." Why would Quill think he had forgotten? He had not sustained any head trauma during the fight. In fact, calling it an attempt to kill them was being quite generous. Considering what Gamora had told them of her sister's great skill, subduing her had been incredibly simple.

 Peter gave him a tense smile and clapped his hands together. "Well, that would be why she's in the cell."

 Drax remained unconvinced. After they had subdued Nebula she had requested refuge, claiming she too had chosen her sister's path and had run from Thanos. Though it was true that she had once been their enemy, Gamora had assured them that her desire to betray Thanos was genuine. As far as he was concerned, that made her their ally. He did not understand why Quill, Rocket, and even their tree friend were so frightened by her presence on the ship. Drax came from a culture of warriors; to him, there was nothing strange about forging a friendship with someone who had once tried to kill him. It was the reason he had never thought to apologize for attempting to kill Gamora when they first met. Apparently his new companions did not feel the same way.

 

* * *

 

The cell had been a new addition to the Milano. It took them a few mishaps with unpleasant folk to realize that if they were going to include bounty hunting in their repertoire of world-saving activities ( _someone_ needed to track down escaped criminals, after all, and the Guardians of the Galaxy still needed to eat), they were going to need somewhere to keep them. Peter had complained about the idea of the cell, saying it would ruin the aesthetics of his ship (although not in those exact words). He had stopped complaining when a convict they were transporting nearly managed to shank him in the neck before Gamora could use Rocket's latest invention to shock him into a gibbering mess.

 She sat staring at the cell through the remote security system, lips pressed against her laced fingers. Nebula had hardly moved since they had taken her onto the ship. She could see her sitting on the prison cot, knees apart with elbows resting on them, her black eyes unblinking and unmoving. If not for the small motions of her breathing and the scrolling time stamp in the lower corner of the video feed, Gamora might have sworn she was staring at a still image.

 “I am Groot?”

 Gamora did not usually react well to surprises. Before she had come to live on the Milano anyone who managed to sneak up on her (there were very few people who could accomplish that in the first place) would have gotten flipped over her shoulder and thrown to the ground. Some unlucky few, if she was particularly tense or in a dangerous situation, would have been stabbed. It was lucky that she was relatively adaptable. She didn't think Rocket would much appreciate her throwing Groot to the floor or shoving a knife in him, especially considering the Flora Colossus was still recovering.

 “I am alright,” she assured him. She added a false smile for effect. Groot was quite good at reading facial expressions.

 “I am _Groot_.” Well, apparently her false smile wasn't convincing enough. Groot frowned at her as she turned off the monitor. Perhaps that wasn't the smartest idea, considering Nebula could have easily requested refuge to get closer to them, but she trusted her sister. That wasn't just sentiment talking, although she was sure it played a part. Ronan was dead and Nebula had endured as much trauma at the hands of Thanos as any of them. She had every reason to want to run from him. On top of that, Gamora simply wanted to have faith in her sister.

 “Really, I'm fine,” she assured him again. She didn't try to fake a smile. “I just have a lot I need to think about.”

 That was truthful enough that Groot seemed— not necessarily content, but as though he believed her. She honestly wasn't sure whether she even _was_ upset. She wasn't sure the gravity of the situation had really hit her yet; she had been conditioned to numb her emotions in high-stress situations, relying completely on logic and reasoning. Logic and reasoning told her to lock Nebula in the cell, even if she felt guilt over it.

 “I am Groot.” He reached around and turned the monitor back on. At the same time he placed a hand on Gamora's shoulder. She assumed the smile he was giving her was meant to be reassuring, though she couldn't understand what he was telling her. Rocket was still the only person who was able to interpret what Groot was saying and even then the other guardians weren't sure if it was a direct translation or if it was simply Rocket filling in the blanks of his context cues.

 “Thank you, Groot.” Even though she wasn't sure what he was saying, it still felt like the right way to reply. “I need some time to think.” A few hours of meditation would certainly help to clear her mind. At the very least it would keep her from wanting to pace around the ship and fiddle with anything she could get her hands on. Nervousness and guilt didn't suit her. She wasn't sure they suited anyone.

 

* * *

 

“What're you sittin' around starin' at that screen for, doofus? She ain't goin' nowhere.” Rocket stifled a large yawn behind a tiny hand. There was no day-night cycle in space, of course, but they had all gotten very good at adjusting themselves to the cycle of whatever planet they were coming from or going to. Of course, being good at adjusting one's sleep schedule was very relative. Rocket had a tendency to stay awake quite late, as did Peter. Groot slept when Rocket slept. It was only Drax and Gamora who maintained a proper sleep schedule. Both had reprimanded their companions for not doing the same, but it was effort wasted.

 Rocket gave Drax a sidelong glance as he slouched on the way to the bedroom the five of them often shared. There were many nights when Rocket would sleep in the unlocked cell (he claimed because he preferred his privacy and because he was used to sleeping in a cell, but in reality it was so he would not wake them up late at night), but that spot had of course been claimed by Nebula whether she liked it or not.

 “What're you still doin' up? Thought you'd be snoozin' like a baby about now,” Rocket asked gruffly, rubbing at one eye with the heel of his hand.

 “I do not sleep like an infant,” Drax replied. He was sitting at the table and carefully examining each of his weapons, determining whether they had to be sharpened or cleaned before they next left the ship. “I sleep soundly through the night.”

 He was starting to suspect that most of what they said but he did not understand was some sort of metaphor, but Rocket did not stop to explain himself this time. He simply rolled his eyes.

 “No, you definitely don't,” he snorted. “You snore too much. Night, blue balls.”

 He grunted in reply and did not understand why Rocket laughed as he walked away, Groot following behind. The departure of their massive tree friend left the seat in front of the camera monitor empty. Drax could not help but feel curious. It was his curiosity that had kept him awake. He could not stop thinking about the woman that they had taken aboard the ship. He did not agree with the decision of the group to put her in the cell. She had asked for refuge from a common enemy; keeping her locked up did not sit well with him.

 The Milano was a quiet ship when Peter and Rocket were not awake. Drax usually knew this state from the early waking hours. He could not remember being awake after they had gone to sleep. The machinery let out a soft electrical hum that one did not notice during the buzz of activity but that one could not help but hear in the middle of the night. The ship felt incredibly eerie when he was alone in it while the others slept.

 After perhaps ten minutes more of staring at his knives, Drax rose to his feet and walked to the bedroom. Although he had no intentions of going to sleep yet, he peered inside. Gamora was lying on her back with her arms folded over her stomach. Peter was lying next to her, spread eagle, close enough that he could have reached out to take her hand but did not. Rocket had curled up as small as possible facing away from both of them. Groot, too large to properly fit in the bed, slept sitting upright next to it.

 Drax stared at his new friends for a few minutes. If he came any closer, Gamora would have woken up. Groot would have done so shortly after. Instead he merely stood in the doorway.

 When he tired of watching his friends sleeping soundly, he returned to the main room where they shared their meals and spent their spare time. The lights were dimmed, making the bright screen of the cell monitor bright and obvious.

 Drax sat in front of the monitor. Nebula had not moved since she had been put in the cell but he had expected her to be lying down and asleep. Instead she was still sitting up, her head cradled in her hands. She looked as though she had a headache. When he had a headache Peter would often bring him a form of medication. Though he often refused unless the pain was particularly agonizing, he always appreciated the offer. His allies were suspicious of the woman— even Gamora, though she also clearly longed to trust her— but he had no such reluctance. She was a fierce warrior, and would make a fierce ally. He wished to be hospitable, not lock her in a cage.

 He picked through a cabinet containing many small carefully labelled bottles. Those that had their labels removed or had not been labelled in the proper way had Gamora's neat, precise handwriting printed on them. The one that he was looking for had an obnoxiously colourful Xandarian pharmaceutical label. He tucked it in his pocket as he descended into the maintenance level of the ship.

 Nebula did not even look at him as he approached the cell. She simply continued to stare at the floor, though the way her body tensed made it obvious she was well aware he was there. He did not attempt to grab her attention or otherwise alert him to her presence. Instead he sat across from her on a low shelf that he was sure was not meant to hold his body weight.

 “I brought you medicine. For your head,” he explained, holding the bottle up for her to see. He sat silently as he waited for her response. When none came he tried again. “You do not need to suffer in silence.”

 “ _This_ is far from suffering,” she replied. There was bitterness in her voice. “Just an annoyance.”

 He nodded. Perhaps he did not understand her exact meaning, but he also understood that it was not his place to pry.

 They sat facing each other in silence for a few minutes. Drax was a patient man when he wanted to be; so long as he did not start to feel exhausted, he would be willing to sit there and wait for her to be ready to speak.

 Eventually she lifted her head and stared at him. The blacks of her eyes, already large and looking ready to absorb all ambient light, looked even bigger. Her eyes were focused on the bottle in his hand.

 “..does that offer still stand?” she asked. He nodded and stood. She was staring at the drop slot in the door that would allow meals and other necessities to be fed to her, but Drax moved to the control console.

 The door reacted to a combination of the hand print and retinal scan of any of the members of the crew. Although the light from the retinal scan often blurred his vision, something no warrior wanted in case of attack, he stood in front of the scanner. The light flashed, turning his vision completely white for a split second. When the light subsided he pressed his hand against the hand print scanner. The door of the cell slid open obligingly.

 Nebula looked at him the same way Quill had looked at him earlier. He was starting to think that the multiple heads metaphor _was_ the phrase he was looking for. The way she was scrutinizing him did make it seem as though there was something odd with the way he looked.

 He held out the bottle of pills he had brought for her. She stared at his hand as though he were offering her some sort of venomous snake.

 (He was getting better at metaphors. Or was that a simile? The semantics did not concern him.)

 “You have a headache, do you not?” he asked. She nodded, still staring at the offered bottle. She then stared into his eyes. Hers were so dark that it was almost mesmerizing. She cocked her head to one side, then to the other, then snatched up the bottle.

 He would have offered to bring her something to wash the pills down with if she had not swallowed a few of the pills so quickly he didn't have time to even _make_ the offer. She returned the cap to the bottle and handed it back to him.

 “Thank you.” She did not sound enthused about his assistance. He supposed he would not be enthused either if he had spent the day locked in a small cell that smelled vaguely of the oil Rocket used to perform small repairs on the ship. “You should go now. Before your friends realize you've opened my door.”

 “My friends are asleep,” Drax replied. “And they would not have a say in this matter even if they were awake.” It was just a blunt statement of truth. Perhaps Rocket would have called him some colourful variant of 'moron', or Peter's voice would have raised several octaves as he asked if he had lost control of his mental faculties, but so long as he was prepared to accept the consequences they would not stop him. Rocket might have said something along the lines of 'it's your funeral' and walked off in a poor mood.

 “This is a trap,” Nebula seemed to decide after a moment of consideration. “Whatever you're planning on doing after gaining my trust, I guarantee I have already been through worse. Don't waste my time; just get it over with.”

 Although her words indicated that she did not feel comfortable with the situation, she also did not seem to be distressed at all. She stared at him with her head cocked, face stern, eyes dark as she waited for whatever was going to happen.

 Drax had no idea what he was supposed to say to that. He could tell that whatever she was expecting, it was something unpleasant. He was not surprised, especially considering what he had tried to do to Gamora the first time they had met and his well-known hatred of both Ronan and Thanos. Truly Nebula had no reason to believe that he wanted to do any less than kill her.

 He stared at the bottle of pills in his hand for a long moment before tucking it into his pocket.

 “Do you like eggs?”

 She cocked her head at him again, tilting it in the opposite direction. It was accompanied by a slight _whir_ of the machinery implanted in her spine.

 “You have not eaten since you were brought on board, and it will be several hours before anyone else is awake. Your sister Gamora always enjoys when I make eggs.”

 Nebula contemplated his offer for several moments. She was likely weighing her hunger against the possibility that he could poison her food while she was not looking; it was what he would have done, now that he had spent so much time among people who killed for a living. Then, tentatively, she stood. He stepped back out of the cell to give her room to move, as there was not much to spare. She seemed reluctant to pass the threshold of the cell as if expecting him to close it as soon as she came close or even while she was standing on that very threshold. He could not imagine having the plasma barrier activate while she was inside of it would feel very pleasant.

 “..well, I suppose I could eat. If you're offering.”

 He nodded and gestured for her to follow him to the mess area.

 

* * *

 If any of the other crew had told Rocket they had woken up to the sight of Drax sitting at the table with the prisoner, talking over dirty dishes that looked like they'd just finished having breakfast, he would have asked if they had eaten anything with a funny colour the last time they'd been on-planet. Still, his own eyes didn't lie to him. Not usually, anyway.

 He hadn't gone to sleep long ago, but some nights were just like that. Something about the way a ship rattled around in space didn't always make for a good night's sleep. It happened less on the Milano than it did on other ships, but it still happened. Especially sleeping next to someone like Quill, who kicked a lot in his sleep sometimes. Rocket felt bad for thinking it, but he was sort of missing when Groot was small enough to sleep in a pot that he could keep in bed with him. He slept better if he slept close to Groot, but a bed made his back hurt less than Groot's branches, no matter how gentle and careful the big guy was— he was still just made outta wood, after all.

 When he'd woken up with Quill snoring next to him and Gamora sleeping so quietly she might as well have been dead, his head pounding from not sleeping enough but his body telling him it was time to get up already, he'd decided that coffee was a major priority. Coffee and something for the headache. Groot had woken up as soon as his tiny feet had hit the floor but he had just mumbled something to him about going back to sleep and slipped out before he could hear the sleepy 'I am Groot' he would get in reply.

 When he first saw Drax sitting at the table across from someone who definitely _looked_ like the woman they had locked in the cell downstairs (but who obviously _couldn't_ be that person because she was sitting _in a cell downstairs_ ), he thought maybe it was just the sleep deprivation kicking in. Sure, maybe Drax was sitting at the table— he hadn't been in bed, after all, which was weird for the big guy— but he couldn't be sitting across from the prisoner. When he heard Nebula _laugh_ (not really a laugh, more of a small involuntary chuckle, but he wasn't paying attention to semantics at that point) he knew he was hallucinating.

 Drax was telling some kind of story about his kid, probably the kind that would melt even a shrivelled up little heart like his if he was paying attention, which he wasn't because he was too busy trying to start processing _why Nebula was sitting with him_. Nebula was listening pretty closely, playing with a ring on the hand that Gamora had said she'd chopped off to get away in the fight against Ronan.

 “Your family sounds lovely,” she said, and Rocket was pretty sure this was some kind of fucked-up dream or something at that point.

 Drax nodded. He was smiling that weird, sort-of-sad smile he had sometimes when he thought people weren't paying attention. “They were.”

 Apparently at that point Rocket must have moved or something without realizing it, or maybe Nebula had just happened to look up, but she caught sight of him and he realized nope, this wasn't a dream. He couldn't dream eyes like that if he tried.

 When Drax realized Nebula was looking at something he turned to look too, and seemed pleased to see him. Rocket could only think of one thing to say. “What.. the fuck?”

 Either Drax didn't hear what he'd said or he hadn't actually said it out loud. “Rocket. Come sit down. Would you like some breakfast?”

 Rocket didn't know what to say to that, so he simply hung his head and shook it. Even if he was hallucinating, food sounded good. If he wasn't, well.. at this point crazy shit like this wouldn't exactly surprise him.

 “..what're we havin'?”


End file.
